


Homecoming

by duchess_of_brighton



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholics Anonymous, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ex Sex, F/M, Feelings, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Jim "Chief" Hopper Being Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jim "Chief" Hopper Lives, Kissing, Love, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reconciliation, Recovery, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchess_of_brighton/pseuds/duchess_of_brighton
Summary: You and Hopper first met when you were both in downward spirals, grieving and lost. For a while, you gave each other solace, but it didn't last. Two years later you return to Hawkins, hoping to make amends and walk away without regrets this time. Funny how life never turns out quite the way you plan it...Trigger warnings: grief/loss; addiction and recovery.
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper/Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper/You
Comments: 54
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on this for so long that I'm now too close to it and have no idea if it's good or shit. I'm sure you'll tell me! This is a bit darker and more involved than some of my other Hopper fics. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for discussion of alcohol recovery, and loss/grief. Know your limits, especially at the moment, and get your smut fix elsewhere if you need to.
> 
> DoB xx

Being back in Hawkins feels strange. You knew it would, and you knew it would challenge you, but the reality is still a jolt as you drive your rental car through increasingly familiar streets in search of your hotel. You might not have lived here for long, but some of your very darkest times took place in Hawkins, and it's hard not to shy away from reminders of those - like that bar on the corner you just passed. Out of all your experiences here, though, the memories you're both most scared and most eager to revisit are of the one person who brought some light into the deep pit that your life was in back then.

You met Jim Hopper in a grief support group - the only time either of you tried attending. You were attracted to each other like magnets, the rawness of your grief the charge that drew you inexorably together. For a while, you were each other's solace, two sides of the same tarnished coin, but you were also two swimmers bobbing in turbulent waters, hovering somewhere between holding each other up and dragging each other down. 

A little over two years later, you're a whole different person. Clean, sober, living a good life in honour of the good man that you lost too young and too brutally. Your grief still has the power to bring you to your knees at times, but now you know how to get right back up again. Not that it hasn't been a struggle, you've been to some very dark places, but you no longer live in one. 

The first thing you do after checking in to your surprisingly nice budget hotel is call your sponsor, just to check in.  
"How is it?" Magda asks, her gravelly smoker's drawl grounding you as it has since your first AA meeting. She has twenty years sober, and there's almost nothing she hasn't heard before.  
"Strange." You answer immediately, "But okay. I've confirmed the appointment with the lawyer first thing tomorrow to go through the paperwork for the house."  
"Great. What are your plans for tonight?"  
"Oh, you know, down a bottle of vodka, dance on some tables, maybe bring an entirely unsuitable guy back to my hotel room..."  
"Funny." Magda's used to your brand of humour. "Seriously, what are you going to do?"  
"I'm going to go for a run, then get some dinner and an early night. " You tell her.  
"What about seeing your man?"  
"He's not my man, and I told you, I'll decide whether or not to approach him after I get through with the lawyer. I don't want to blindside him."  
"Well, it's not exactly a big place, right? You might not get a choice."  
"I know. And if that happens, it happens. I'm good, Mags, honestly." You're reassuring yourself as much as your sponsor.  
"I know you are, honey. But you call if you need me."

The hotel receptionist is friendly, and helpful enough to suggest a good route for your run. The late afternoon streets are pretty quiet, and you enjoy the sound of your feet pounding the pavement in time with your measured breathing. Running replaced most of your unhealthier habits when you were a couple of months sober, and by this point you don't know how you'd cope without the meditative state it puts you into.

It's that meditative state that you blame for not spotting Hopper until you literally run into him.  
"Shit! I'm so sorry!"  
You apologise to the brick wall of a chest that you just bounced off of, before registering that that chest is clad in police issue khaki, with a shiny name badge that confirms its owner even if his still familiar contours hadn't already clued you in.  
"Jeez, you okay-" He begins, and then as you raise your head, you see his jolt of recognition. "It's you." He says, his expression hard to read.  
"Hey, Hop. Long time." You're aiming for nonchalant, but land closer to awkward as hell.  
"Yeah." There's a pause before he asks, "How you been?"  
"Better." You tell him, honestly. "Much better."  
"Good, that's good." He does look sort of pleased, if still understandably guarded. "Me too."  
"I'm glad. You look... you look good." And you definitely mean that, even if you maybe shouldn't have said it.  
"So do you." He says immediately, and there's a second or two of slightly awkward silence before he speaks again. "How long are you in town for?"  
"Only a couple days. I finally sold Ryan's house, so... legal paperwork."  
"You did, huh?" He gives you a gentle kind of smile, and you feel a pang in your chest at seeing that sort of expression on his face again.  
"It was time." You make yourself smile back, even though you suddenly feel more like crying, "I got there, in the end."  
"That's really-" He breaks off as his police radio crackles into life. "Sorry. Listen, while you're here, you want to get a drink or something? Catch up?"  
You force yourself to take a beat before answering. "Hop, I would love to catch up. Really. But I'm two years sober, so..."  
"Wow, that's..." He rubs a hand over his beard, "I mean, we could get coffee? You still drink coffee?"  
You force a laugh, "Oh, I still drink a lot of coffee!"  
"Great, great. So, ah, there's a new coffee place, if you wanna..."  
"Yeah, yeah that sounds good." You suddenly feel acutely aware of your running clothes and sweaty hair. "Let me grab a shower, and... No, wait, what time do you get off?"  
He glances at his watch, "Around an hour? Is that okay for you?"  
"Yeah, just tell me where to meet you."  
"It's called Howie's, it's on-" His radio starts receiving again. "Shit, I-"  
"Go!" You urge, "I'll get directions from the hotel. I'll see you later."  
"See you then." He shoots you one more slightly awkward smile before turning away and reaching for his radio. 

You run back to the hotel, take a shower, and then start panicking about what to wear. After all, you only brought a small overnight bag with you. It takes you a few minutes to recognise that you're spiralling a little, but once you do, you pause for a few deep breaths and then call Magda.  
"I saw him." You tell her, without preamble. "Ran right into him, like you said."  
"And how was it?"  
"It was a little awkward, but actually okay." You say honestly, "He seems well."  
"You tell him about your sobriety?"  
"Yes, Mags, and we're meeting for coffee. At a coffee shop. Okay?"  
"I don't know, you tell me. Is it okay?"  
You take the time to consider the question before answering, "Yes. Like I said, he seems well, and it's coffee, and if it gets too much, I know I can leave."  
"Spoken like a true warrior. You got this, honey."  
"Thanks, Mags."  
"Now, are you panicking about what to wear, or am I projecting?"

Just under an hour later, you walk into the coffee shop. With the help of your spookily intuitive sponsor, you've chosen an outfit of jeans, boots, tshirt and blazer. The jeans show off your legs a little, but the overall vibe is definitely friendly rather than sexy, which is what you wanted. Except when you see Hopper sitting there in his jeans and button down flannel, his big frame dwarfing the wooden chair he's sat on, you have an irrational pang of wishing you'd dressed up for him.

You order coffee and go join him, and the way he smiles when you sit down feels like a soothing balm on a sore place in your soul.  
"Hey, Hop."  
"Hey. I know I said this before, but you really do look good. You look... well."  
You know his meaning is far from the platitude. "I am. And you do, too. Really well."  
"One day at a time, huh?" And then he makes a face, "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean..."  
You laugh, "It's fine! AA doesn't actually own that sentiment!"  
"It's working for you though, huh, the sobriety and all of that?"  
"It really is. Things got really bad before they got better, and AA was there for me."  
"I'm sorry I wasn't." He says softly.  
"You have nothing to apologise for." You say firmly, "We were both in a dark place back then, you can't even help yourself properly when things are like that, let alone someone else. And I was the one who... Well, anyway..." Somehow you can't say it, even though speaking your truth is exactly what you should be doing. Instead you both fall silent for a while, and as you remember how things were back then, you know he's doing the same. 

The night you met, at that grief support group, it was like you recognised each other in your shared pain. The group was a bust, neither of you were in the right headspace for it, but you left together, got drunk on the bottle of scotch he had in his car, and ended up falling asleep in the back seat listening to a tape of a band you can't even remember. Hop was the first person you hadn't had to explain your grief to. He was living it, he knew it, it fed and ate you both in the same way, even though you were grieving a fiancé and him a child and a marriage. When you woke up in that back seat, he was still sleeping, and the feel of his arm around you, unconsciously cradling you, gave you a feeling of comfort so real and sharp that you had to crawl out of the car and escape before he could wake up. 

"Anyway," You break the silence, "What are you doing these days? Still busy being Chief?"  
"Yeah, still dealing with the criminal masterminds of Hawkins." His laugh is just a little strained, but his next words prevent you from dwelling on that. "And, ah, I adopted. I have a daughter, Jane. She, ah, she was kind of in the system, so now... yeah."  
"Hop, that's amazing." You reach over and put your hand on his, just a brief touch, and try to ignore the jolt it sends through you, "Truly."  
"She keeps me on track, you know? I mean, I still like a beer, but..."  
"No more pills?" You ask quietly, and he shakes his head emphatically.  
"Not for a long time now." He confirms, before changing the subject, "And you? You working?"  
"Yeah, I'm teaching at a community college. Almost finished my doctorate, too, finally. It's not what I'd planned, but it's right for me, just now." You feel the familiar stab of pain at the abandoned dream of Ivy League professorial glory.  
"Good for you." He hesitates before asking, "And are you dating, or...?"  
It's the first time you've been really tempted to lie, but you don't. "Yes, actually. It's very early days, but I'm seeing someone. He's nice, reliable, calls when he says he will. You know, all the good stuff."

You try to keep your tone light as your thoughts drift to Stephen, who does indeed tick all the right boxes. He's a nice, safe, reliable guy, who works with homeless veterans, calls when he says he will, and treats you like a lady. You like him, and you know he wouldn't hurt you. You've had the crazy, desperate kind of love, and it always ended in pain. It's just that right now, sitting opposite Hopper, Stephen feels less like a sensible, mature choice and more like a big fucking compromise. 

"Are you seeing anyone?" You ask him, trying not to hold your breath.  
"No." He shakes his head, "Between the job and the kid, I've kind of got my hands full." He looks you right in the eye suddenly, and your mouth goes dry, "I keep wanting to say I wish you hadn't left. But it seems like it was the best thing you could have done for yourself."  
"I just had to, Hop."  
"Yeah, I know."  
"I couldn't stay in your trailer drinking myself to death. We weren't good for each other in that way."  
"I know." He says again, but you're on a roll now.  
"I loved you, but it was so unhealthy. We were killing each other when we thought we were saving each other." They're words you've said in group, to your sponsor, and so many times to yourself, but saying them to Hop makes the reality hit home in a whole new way.  
"I know." He repeats softly, "But it almost killed me when you left, too." His tone is even, but you can see the pain in his eyes.  
"Oh god, I'm sorry." You whisper. "I'm so sorry." Your heart is racing, your palms clammy, and you suddenly realise what you need to do. "I have to go, Hop. This was a bad idea. I can't-" You push your chair back and stand. "I'm so happy for you, that things are working out for you. But I can't pretend that I don't... That I don't still..." You drag your gaze from his without risking finishing that sentence, and leave the coffee shop at a brisk walk, gasping the cooler air outside into your lungs. You'll go back to the hotel, call Magda, and it will all be fine. You'll be fine.

"Wait!" You feel his hand on your shoulder, turning you, and then both of his hands are on your upper arms, holding you lightly in place. "I'm sorry." He tells you. "That wasn't fair. It's just seeing you again, I..."  
He's so close to you, you can smell his cologne, the cigarettes and coffee on his breath, and the scent underneath all that that's just Hopper, and is so familiar you could cry.  
"Hop..."  
And then his mouth meets yours, and you can't cry, you can't think, you certainly can't push him away. Instead you finally give in to the urge you felt the second you set eyes on him again, and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, until his body is pressed against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth, his arms tight around you. You burn and flood for him, your body telling you you've found again the one place your restless energy is stilled and calmed. It's as though no time has passed at all since the last time you lay naked in his arms, when you knew it was the last time you ever would and he didn't... 

And that's the thought that gives you the strength to pull away and run, tears streaming down your cheeks as you dash blindly down the street, no real idea which direction you're headed, except for away from Hop, away from the past, and away from the raging desire for him that's invaded every cell of your body as though it never left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, please let me know what you think! More chapters to come over the next few days.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time you slept with Hopper was about a week after you first met. You hadn't returned to the grief group, you'd gone straight back to your usual routine of sleeping and crying all day, telling yourself you were going to get over this, and then going out and getting drunk again when the pain got too much. Ryan had been dead six months, you'd been in Hawkins for three, and you'd burned through at least eight bars, switching every time the bartenders started to get a little too concerned about you. Trouble was, Hawkins was a small enough town that you'd had to slide quickly down the scale from decent bars to dive bars in order to keep getting your required alcohol and solitude. And then into your latest hangout walked Hopper.

You hadn't planned to sleep with him, sex had been completely off the agenda since Ryan's death, but something about the big, broken police chief woke your body up again to that possibility. You were already drunk, he wasn't far behind, and forty minutes later you had sex in his truck. It was messy and hurried, but it wasn't in any way sordid, in fact it was strangely comforting. Comforting enough that you went home with him, and barely left again for the next three months.

As you tell this story to Magda over the phone, even though she's heard it before, you try to explain the relationship to yourself as well.  
"We did take care of each other, Mags. I mean, we were drunk a lot, but he went to work, and I started working on my doctorate again, kind of, and just being out of that fucking house and in a space where I felt safe... I could say anything to him, and it didn't scare him, you know?"   
"Because his thoughts were as dark as yours." She says gently, "There's comfort in that, but it also makes you think those thoughts and behaviours are normal."  
"I know." You concede. This is familiar ground from recovery. "It's just, it turns out I still really like him."  
She laughs, "Of course you do! You're still the same people, and by the sounds of it, he's just as good a person as you are. Just because you were both in the wilderness, it doesn't mean you were bad people."  
"It's scary." You whisper, admitting your fear. "I feel like he knows me in a different way to everybody else."  
"Why is that scary?"  
"What if he doesn't want to know the healthy me?" The words surprise you even as you utter them.  
"And if he rejects you, you're worried you'll relapse?"  
"No, I won't relapse." You feel strong in that.  
"Then what are you worried about?"  
"I hurt him, Mags, that much was clear. Like, really hurt him."   
"Then make amends! You know how to work that step, lady. And you know that you have to accept whatever the outcome is."  
You nod, even though she can't see you. "God grant me the serenity..." You begin, and the words soothe you as Magda joins in the prayer. 

You talk to Mags for another hour before ordering a sandwich from room service - which turns out to be the kid on reception running out to a local diner - and then watching TV while you eat. And all the while, you can't stop thinking about Hopper. The old Hop would probably have shown up here by now, given his lack of impulse control. In that way, you're pleased that he hasn't, that he really has changed and recovered, and imagining him at home with his daughter having a calm evening makes you happy. Mostly. 

Your thoughts drift back to life in his trailer, memories of laying on his couch trying to work on your thesis until the craving for alcohol got too strong, or Hop came home, or both. Of sitting on the porch together, buzzed and bleary, cherishing a moment of peace before the feelings all came rushing back in again. And of Hop chasing away the dark thoughts that plagued you both, by blanketing your body with his, driving into you until physical sensation blanked out everything else. Desperate, devouring sex, consuming each other in the shadows. Fingerprint bruises on your arms, your hips, your inner thighs. Bite marks on his chest and shoulder, scratches all over his back. His big hands holding you down while he ate you out, making you come over and over, until you were too exhausted and sated to cry any more, and could lay quiet in his arms and sleep. 

You turn off the TV and the lights and lay in the darkness for a while. You remember Hop making you laugh, moments of tenderness between you, times when the fog lifted for a while and you thought you could actually be happy again. Shafts of sunlight cutting through a gloomy day. But the light shone on a coffee table full of empty bottles and full ashtrays, a fitting metaphor for your life, and the day you emerged from the blanket of grief long enough to realise that was the day you knew you had to leave.

At some point you fall asleep, but you only realise that when your wake up call sounds and you open your eyes to daylight filtering in through the thin curtains. Cursing, you shower and dress in fresh clothes, and head out without grabbing breakfast. You have somewhere to be before your meeting with the lawyer, and you don't want to be late. Luckily, though, they're likely to have baked goods.

The AA meeting is comfortably familiar, right down to the indifferent coffee and fresh donuts. You're greeted like an old friend by some of the strangers, and ignored by others. When it's your turn to share, you stand up and introduce yourself the way you have a thousand or more times before. In the early days, you'd sometimes done two or three meetings a day.   
"I haven't been back to Hawkins in a while." You tell the group, "Not since before I got sober. My fiancé grew up here, but we met in Washington DC. I was a grad student, and he was based at the Marine Barracks." You think you see a glimmer of recognition in the face of one of the men in the group and look away. It's a small enough town that people will remember Ryan, a fallen hero, and some of them might even remember you.  
"He inherited the house here when his father died," You continue, "And we thought we might move here one day, when he got out of the service and we wanted to have kids, but..." You take a slow deep breath and let it out, the way you've practiced for so long, "He was killed on deployment overseas, and I couldn't stay in Washington, couldn't handle it. I came here for a fresh start, but being in his childhood home was not conducive to that. I wasn't even thinking clearly, to be honest. I lived here for six months, drinking myself closer and closer to death, and then I finally had a moment of clarity, and I left. I moved to Boston, I got help, from people like all of you in this room, and now I have two years sober, and a good life. I'm making it one day at a time."  
There's a little round of applause that almost brings tears to your eyes. 

The meeting with the lawyer takes all of ten minutes. Ryan's will left everything to you, there was no family to contest it, so selling the house is absolutely your right. You sign the paperwork, and leave the office feeling a little freer. Taking a deep breath, you know where you need to go next, and you turn resolutely in the direction of the police station.

You never went into the station when you were with Hopper. To be honest, you doubt any of his colleagues ever knew about you. But things are very different now, and you walk right in and up to the front desk and ask to speak to the Chief.   
"Will he know what it's about?" The woman behind the desk asks, and you smile.  
"I'm an old friend, I just hoped he might have a few minutes to catch up."  
She calls through to his office and relays the message, and while you can hear the rumble of his voice on the other end of the internal line, you can't make out what he's saying.   
"He'll be right out," She tells you when she hangs up, and sure enough, moments later he appears. 

His expression is a little guarded, which is more than fair after last night.   
"Hey, everything okay?"  
"Yeah, I just wondered if you had a few minutes to talk." You're acutely aware of the woman on the desk listening avidly, and it seems Hopper is too.   
"Sure, let's take a walk." He gestures to the front door of the station, and follows you out after exchanging a few words with the secretary or whoever she is.  
As soon as you hit the sidewalk you turn to face him. "I need to apologise."  
"I think that's my line." He replies, "I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."  
"No, Hop, I shouldn't have run off. But that's not the apology I mean."   
You stare at each other for a beat before he looks away first.   
You take a deep breath, "Can we go somewhere and talk?" You ask, then quickly add, "Or not, is fine. You don't owe me anything, and even though I'd like to talk about what happened back then, I don't want to do anything that's going to hurt you."  
"Wait," He narrows his eyes, "Is this a twelve step thing?"  
You can't help laughing, despite the tension between you. "Making amends is part of the program, but that's not why I want to talk to you. I'm not here to tick a box."  
"Okay. Then sure, let's go talk." He gestures to his truck. "Want to take a ride?"

Your eyes meet, and you know that in that moment he's thinking the exact same thing you are. He's thinking of the first time you had sex, which was in this very truck, your knees either side of his thighs as you straddled him in the back seat. You remember his tortured groans, your own gasps, the impatient rub of his fingers over your clit, and the feel of him lifting his hips to thrust deeper into you. The truck smelled of sweat, scotch and sex, and the way he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged your mouth to his made your scalp burn. 

You stare up at him, your breathing faster, your body reacting to his proximity as much as to the memory. You feel high from being in his presence, and your panties are wet. You realise that despite everything that's happened in the last couple of years - and the last twenty four hours - there's very little you wouldn't give to have Jim Hopper buried deep inside you just one more time. You can see him swallow as he continues to stare into your eyes.  
"Let's go." He says, his voice a low growl, and when he grabs your arm to escort you to the truck, the last thing you consider doing is pulling away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying this story, let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> DoB x


	3. Chapter 3

You drive in silence for the first few minutes, the air between you feeling thick and heavy with tension.  
"Where are we going?" You ask in the end, and he replies without taking his eyes off the road.   
"Somewhere private. I'm trying to think."   
"We could go to my hotel." You say quietly, and he takes the next turn in that direction without saying anything further.

Hopper follows you up the stairs and along the walkway to your door, and you unlock it and step aside to let him enter first. His eyes sweep the room, and then he turns to face you as you close the door and flip the lock.   
"So." He says, his expression unreadable.  
"So." You echo, and then you both move at once. 

Your bodies crash together, his arms wrapping around you as your mouths meet in a devouring kiss.   
"We shouldn't." You gasp into his mouth, as his hand finds your ass, lifting you onto your tiptoes as he presses your hips into his and you feel how hard he is for you already.   
"Probably not." He mumbles against your lips, then kisses you again as you rip at his jacket, desperate to feel his body against yours, surrendering to this moment.   
His hands pull open your shirt, scattering buttons, and he palms your breast over your bra, making you moan with need. Your fingers are fumbling with his belt, and you're already kicking off your boots. 

The contours of his body feel so familiar under your hands, the nip of his teeth at your neck is like a sense memory, and yet you've never felt so present in a moment, certainly never slept with Hopper in anything like a state of sobriety, and the feeling is overwhelming. His taste, his scent, the sheer size of him in comparison to you, it all combines to heighten your arousal to a point where the only thing you care about is getting him inside you. He pushes your pants down your legs, letting you step out of them as you stumble towards the bed. Your shirt hits the floor, he's already lost his, and you run your hand up his bare back and moan at the feel of firm muscle under warm skin as he fumbles open your bra and helps you shake it down your arms and off. 

You fall onto the bed and he lands on top of you, his lips still meshed with yours, your legs spread wide around his hips and his rock hard dick pressed against your soaking centre, only both your underwear preventing him from being deep inside of you already. You help him push his boxers down, and he curses as he tries to kick shoes, pants and underwear off at the same time. It should be funny, but you're too desperate, too needy, to find it anything but frustrating. He finally succeeds and his hands go to the sides of your panties, ready to remove the last barrier between you.  
"You sure?" He asks, meeting your eyes so you can see how dark with need his are. When you knew him before, he never would have stopped to check.   
Your voice is a gasp as you confirm, "Yes, do it, please!"  
He rips through the thin elastic at your hips, and the next thing you feel is the stretch of him pushing into you, a feeling at once achingly familiar and shockingly new.

Your body is so primed for him that you're close to the edge as soon as he fills you, and once he starts moving you're already lost. His hands are tangled in your hair, you're gripping his biceps bruisingly hard, and your feet are digging into his ass with every thrust, urging him deeper. When your climax hits it rolls on and on, wave after wave of searing pleasure, your muscles cramping, your head tipping back as you cry out his name over and over.   
"Jesus, fuck, coming in you, baby..." His words sound far away even though they're rasped into your ear, but the sensation of him deeper inside you than you believed possible, filling you with his heat, is visceral in its intensity. You feel as though you're simultaneously losing consciousness and the most conscious you've ever been. Nothing, nothing has ever felt like this before.

You come back to earth slowly, becoming aware of your panting breath, the stickiness of sweat on your skin, the fullness between your legs.   
"Are you okay?" He's looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, his body still blanketing yours.  
"I, I think so." Your voice sounds strange to your own ears.  
Hop pulls out of you as gently as he can, and rolls onto his back beside you. "I wasn't planning on doing that." He says.  
"Neither was I." You tell him.   
"Regret it?" There's an edge to his voice.  
"No." You turn your head to look at him, but he's staring at the ceiling. "Do you?"  
"Not even for a second." He shifts onto his side and meets your eye. "Wanted to do that since the second I saw you again."  
"Me too." You almost whisper.   
"C'mere?" His voice is tentative as he opens his arms, but you roll into them willingly. It used to be that that was your cue to fall into a drunken slumber, but now you want to savour every second. He holds you close, his hand stroking your back, his lips against your forehead. 

"I really missed you, after you left." He says softly.  
"I'm so sorry," You murmur back, "I just realised one day, I had this moment, when I knew we'd both end up dead if I stayed. That's why I had to go."  
"I know, sweetheart. I worked that out in the end too. You were right to go."   
"But I still hate that I hurt you-" Your voice breaks as you try to swallow down a sob, "And I missed you every single day, I tortured myself worrying that you might think I'd walked away without looking back-"  
"No, no." He soothes, "Never thought that. I was worried about you, though."  
"I should have let you know I was okay." You acknowledge, "But I was so broken, Hop, I had to go away to fix myself, and the only way I knew how to do that was to go somewhere completely new, get away from everything familiar..." It sounds weak when you explain it, but he's nodding slightly.  
"Oh, I can understand that impulse." He kisses your hair as you bury your face in his chest, "I forgave you a long time ago, you know, it's okay."  
"I don't think I've forgiven myself yet." You murmur, but you know he heard you, because he gathers you closer still.

"I haven't slept with anyone else but you, since." You blurt after a few moments. You hadn't planned on telling him that, but it's out there now, and for some reason you really want him to know.  
"I have." He acknowledges, "Not that it was ever a good decision."   
You can't deny that it stings, even though he had every right to fuck his way through the entire female population of Hawkins if he so chose. He gently laces his fingers through your hair and pulls your head back so he can look you in the eye.  
"But none of them were you." He says, "None of them mattered." He pauses, "What you said last night, you'd never said that before."  
"What?" You frown, trying to remember your words of the night before.  
"You said that you'd loved me, back then. But you never said that when you were here."  
You bite back a childish urge to retort that he'd never said it either. You hear Magda in your head, telling you to speak your truth, even when it hurts.   
"I loved you, Hop. Probably not in anything like a healthy way, but I loved you." You keep your eyes on his, and brace yourself for impact.   
"I loved you too." He says without hesitation. "In my own, fucked up kind of way. I really did."  
You manage a slightly twisted smile, even though a part of you is screaming with the pain of bad timing and lost possibility. "You saved my life, really. I think it was loving you that made me realise I didn't want to die after all. Though figuring out how to keep living was the hardest part."   
"I wish I'd got there at the same time you did." He sighs. "I wish it'd been enough, loving you."  
"When did you get there?" You ask. The blanket of intimacy that has surrounded you both allows you to ask the kind of questions that you wouldn't otherwise dare to.   
"There was a case, a missing kid, it's a hell of a long story but... I could have died, easily, and when it got that close, turns out I didn't want to after all." He shrugs slightly, "Then Jane came into my life, so, it kind of worked out from there."  
"Funny how that happens, huh? Life going on."  
He chuckles very slightly, then you both fall silent, his hand still gently stroking over your back, his lips pressing soft kisses to your hairline. Your eyelids flutter closed, letting his tenderness soak into your bones. 

"So we've talked," He says after a little while, "What happens now?"  
"I'm leaving tomorrow," You tell him. "Back to Boston."   
"You want to get dinner tonight? One last hurrah?"  
"Yes. Please." You don't even have to think about it.  
"Then I'll pick you up later, okay? I wish I could stay here right now, but I've got to get back to the station. I told Flo I'd only be gone a little while."   
"It's okay, tonight is good."   
"What are you going to do til then?" He strokes a hand over your hair.   
"Shower, run, probably not in that order. I need to call my sponsor and check in-" Then you realise what he's really asking, "I'm fine, Hop. I'm good. You don't have to worry about me, it's not like it used to be." You know he's remembering coming home to find you a drunken, sobbing mess on his couch.   
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm just checking, that's all."  
"It's okay." You pull back a little, "Get going, I'll see you tonight."  
He slowly lets you go and drags himself off the bed and upright, gathering his clothes. "Yeah, you will. Seven, okay?"  
"Seven." And even though a tiny part of you wonders if it's the right decision, you already can't wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen next? Stay tuned to find out... and leave me your predictions in the comments if you like! 
> 
> DoB x


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing you do after Hop leaves is call Magda. You need to ground yourself, and she's always been able to help you do that.  
"Did you talk to him?" She asks, and you're able to answer in the affirmative.  
"Yes." Then you add, "After we had sex."  
You were kind of expecting to get a telling off, but instead she surprises you with a throaty laugh. "Well, at least that explains it."  
"Explains what?"  
"You've been sober more than two years, you're a smart, beautiful girl, and you haven't been near a guy in the whole time I've known you-"  
"What about Stephen?" You interrupt, but it's a weak protest and she makes a dismissive snorting noise.  
"Oh please. Now I know it's because you were waiting for this one."  
"I wasn't waiting for Hopper!"  
"Well, at the very least you needed closure," She allows, "And did you get it?"  
"Not yet." You admit, "I still want more."  
"And you might always." She tells you very seriously, "But make sure to listen to your head, honey, not just your heart."

Hopper picks you up right on time, and the way he runs his eyes up and down your body before he kisses your cheek in greeting tells you you're not the only one who still wants more. But in keeping with you both being healthier, more responsible people these days, neither of you suggests forgetting dinner in favour of an evening in your hotel room. Instead you go to a restaurant, and manage to spend the first hour having a pretty normal conversation about your jobs, music and movies, and he makes you laugh with a couple of stories about his adopted daughter. It's not until dessert that your conversation strays back towards the subject of your shared past and whatever shreds of that relationship still remain between you.

"Taste." He holds out a spoonful of chocolate mousse, and as you obediently close your mouth around the spoon, you can't resist keeping your eyes on his while you swallow the dessert with a little moan of pleasure.   
"Fuck." He mutters, "What are you playing at, baby?"  
"Trying to make sure you come back to my hotel?"  
He huffs out a laugh. "I'm not sure that was ever in question." He looks down at the table, spreading his palms on the checkered cloth, "What are we doing?"  
"I don't know." You admit, "I didn't come back here looking for this, I swear."   
He nods slowly, "Has there really been no one else?" He asks suddenly.  
"Really." You confirm quickly. "You're not supposed to date for at least a year after getting sober, and then I was focused on teaching and trying to get back on track with all of that."  
"But you said you're dating someone now?"  
"Yes... I mean, kind of..." In truth, you've already decided that you won't be seeing Stephen again.   
"But you haven't slept with him?" He raises an eyebrow, and you swallow. 

For the past two years, every time you've thought about sex, you've thought about Hopper. You can't count the number of times you've lain in bed with your hand between your legs, remembering his touch, his weight on you, his dexterous fingers and devouring tongue. Even once you started allowing yourself to notice the existence of other men in the world, they were nothing in comparison. When you finally started dating Stephen, you did so because he asked, and because you knew he was a decent guy, rather than because you felt that kind of attraction. It's still Hop you think about when you close your eyes and touch yourself, and you wonder now if it always will be. 

"Don't settle," He says suddenly, and you flush.  
"What?"  
"Don't settle. I settled, with Diane, and although I loved Sarah more than anything in this world, I never felt the way I should about her mother."  
"How did you feel about me?" The question just slips out, and you feel like you've kicked yourself in the gut as you wait for an answer you're not even sure you want to hear.   
"I've been thinking about that, after what you said before. 'Cause you know I loved you. But it was more than that." His fingers tap gently on the table, and his gaze is fixed there too. He's not completely comfortable with this conversation, you can tell, but he's still speaking, "Being with you felt good. I didn't have to lie about anything, or hide the bad shit. You never judged me. You didn't want to 'make me a better man'..." A slight note of bitterness has crept into his tone. "You made me feel like I was enough."   
You have to swallow before you can reply, "You were. You are. And I know exactly what you mean."  
"I still feel like I can be honest with you in a way I can't be with anyone else." He admits, finally looking up at you, "You think I'd ever have this conversation with anyone else? I'd rather get dragged down the highway under a truck."   
You can't help a tiny burst of laughter, even though your heart is aching and singing at the same time. "You should work on that, Hop. Being honest with people about how you feel."   
He snorts slightly, "You trying to sell me on the twelve steps?"  
"You find whatever works for you. But I'm saying you need people, Hop. People you can really talk to."  
"I'm working on it." He says, and you reach for his hand.   
"I want you to be okay. I want you to live a good life and be happy."  
"I want that for you too." He says immediately.   
You echo his words, "I'm working on it."  
Your linked hands rest on the table, and you're both wearing slightly wry smiles.  
"Will you spend the night with me?" You ask, "One last time."  
"Yes. But not at your hotel." He squeezes your hand. "Do you trust me?"

The trailer actually looks better now than it did when you stayed there, even though Hopper hasn't lived in it for over a year. Outside, it's been spruced up a little, and inside there's sparse furniture and clear surfaces instead of the mess and clutter you remember.  
"I couldn't let it go." Hop tells you, as you stand just inside the door, looking around at what feels like the ghost of a home you once knew.   
"Why?" You ask, even though you already know the answer.  
"If you were anyone else, I'd give you some bullshit about tax breaks, but I guess that won't fly with you. You know exactly why I kept it..." He puts his arms around you from behind, pulling you back against his chest.  
Your throat feels suddenly thick, and you blink back tears. "Really?"  
"You're the only good memories I got of this place. You let the light in, baby."  
"That's what I always thought about you." You manage, before a tear escapes and makes its way down your cheek.   
"Are you crying?" He turns you in his arms so he can see your face.  
You forcefully swallow down the tears as you look up at him and shake your head. "I need you, Hop."   
He hesitates for a moment, you can see him scanning your face, but then he dips his head and kisses you, slow and soft. "What do you need, baby?" He murmurs against your mouth.  
"You, Hop, just you..." Your voice is almost a moan, and he kisses you again.

In the tiny bedroom, you undress each other with a lot more finesse than earlier in the day. Hop strokes his hands over you as he releases buttons and zips, laying kisses on each piece of skin he uncovers. You run your fingers over his arms, his torso, tracing your lips across his bared chest, smiling to yourself at his groan when you lightly use your teeth on his nipple. It's a slow, teasing dance, like nothing you've ever done with each other before, and when you're finally both fully naked, you feel your breath catch in your throat as he cups your cheek in his big hand.   
"You're beautiful." He tells you, sweeping his gaze from your feet to your face and back again before kissing you.  
"You're not so bad yourself." You tell him, taking in the broad shoulders and strong arms, the height of him; even the softness around his middle appeals to you. He's all man, Hop, and at least for tonight he's all yours.

He lays you out on the bed you used to sleep in together, now covered only by a thin cotton sheet, and kisses his way down your body before settling himself between your legs, his big shoulders forcing your thighs apart. Without preamble, he licks from your entrance to your clit, making you shiver and suck in a breath.   
"Jesus, baby, I'd almost forgotten how good you taste." His voice is a raspy murmur, and you whimper at the memories that come flooding back. They have a cloudy texture, the product of alcohol and time, but this moment now is pure technicolour. You feel every touch of Hop's fingers, every lick of his tongue, magnified a thousand times by your hypersensitive nerve endings. You're flooding for him, shaking, his hands on your hips anchoring you as he suckles your clit, and then he pushes a thick finger inside you and strokes that sensitive spot that only he has ever found, and you arch off the bed, gasping for air, your whole body on fire as you come.  
"That's it, baby." His thumb strokes gently over your clit, "One more time for me."  
"Can't," You manage, throat dry and breath panting as you look down the bed and meet his eyes, "Too much..."  
"You can," He murmurs, and you see your juices glistening on his beard, "For me." And as he pushes a second finger inside you, dragging over that hidden spot, you do exactly as he asks, muscles tightening again as a further wave, deeper this time, rushes through your body, forcing your eyes closed and a cry from your lips that sounds at least something like his name. 

Hop strokes the hair back from your face, his touch gentle as you blink open your eyes.  
"You okay, sweetheart?"  
You answer by kissing him as he moves over you, blanketing you in his warmth, and your legs wrap around his hips, trying to draw him closer, guide him to where you want him the most.   
"What do you want, baby?" His dick nudges against your entrance.  
"There, oh god, there..."  
"Look at me." His voice is a growl, and you obediently meet his gaze, "Tell me what you want."   
"I want you inside me, god Hop, please..."  
"Yeah?" He slowly pushes into you, his eyes half closing as a groan leaves his mouth. "So fucking wet for me... Jesus..." 

You used to lay in bed alone in Boston, your eyes tight shut as you touched yourself, and imagine his voice in your ear, saying exactly the kind of things he's mumbling now. Experiencing it in the flesh again is so much more intense, and all you can do is cling to him as he moves slow and deep, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone as his lips alternate between brushing kisses against yours and murmuring those dirty sweet nothings.  
"Taking me so good, baby... Like you were made for me..."   
All you can do in response is whimper, his dick stretching you, filling you so perfectly, reminding you how fucking good it feels when Hopper's inside you. His movements are becoming faster, and you dig your fingers into his back, feeling the tightness in your belly again, the trembling starting in your thighs and spreading outwards as you buck your hips up into his, chasing the last little bit of stimulation you need to take you over the edge again.  
"Got one more in you, baby? I got you..." He shifts his weight to just one elbow so he can reach his other hand between your bodies, his thumb searching out your clit, and it only takes a single stroke to push you into another searing climax, clinging to him as your inner muscles clench and grab at his dick, keeping him deep within you, and then it's his turn to shout out, pushing deeper still.  
"Fuck, oh fuck, baby..." And you feel the moment he spills his hot release into you, thrusting a couple more times before he finally stills. 

Your limbs feel deliciously heavy, and despite being hot and sticky, you have no desire to move. Hop's still laying over you, still half inside you, and both of you are breathing fast.   
"Okay, baby?" He asks, nuzzling a kiss into your neck.   
You surprise yourself by giggling. "Oh god, Hop. You made me come three times, what do you think?"  
He huffs out a little laugh of his own, "I think you're amazing."  
"I think _you're_ amazing." You counter, and as your eyes meet, you find yourself welling up.   
"Hey," He says gently, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb, "What's that for?"  
"I never thought we'd ever be here again." You manage, fighting against the growing lump in your throat, "I just... I still... Oh god, Hop, I still, I still-" And then the sobs win.

Hop slides his arms under you, and rolls to the side, so that you can snuggle your face into his chest while he cradles you, just like he did at the hotel earlier in the day. You've cried in this bed, alone or with Hop, so many times, and the memory of that makes you cry even harder. Only now you're not crying for Ryan, you're crying from all of the complicated feelings you have for the man holding you, and for the words that you so badly want to say but can't let yourself utter.   
"It's okay, baby." He strokes your hair and back, comforting you, and you try to get yourself back under control, but it's a struggle.   
"Sorry, sorry." You gasp between sobs, and he kisses the top of your head.  
"Don't be sorry. I'm sorry for bringing you here. It's too much."  
"No, no, it's not that." You take a deep breath and try to explain, still interrupted by the occasional choking sob. "It's this, you and me, I just... it feels so good, Hop. And then tomorrow-"  
He stops you with a kiss, his face serious when he pulls back. "Don't think about tomorrow." He kisses you again, and despite your inner turmoil, you feel another shudder of arousal. "Just be here now." And as he rolls you onto your back and cups your breast, his lips returning to yours, you do forget about tomorrow, and the next day, and the rest of your life, and let yourself just be here with Hop, let him blank out everything else with his loving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! One more chapter to come, and what will become of Hopper and our reader? 
> 
> DoB x


	5. Chapter 5

You wake up stiff and sticky, your body feeling thoroughly satisfied, but your mind back in turmoil. You're not sure what time it is, but the sun is high enough in the sky that it must be morning. Hop is sprawled out next to you, his face buried in the mattress and his extremely fine butt on show, which you can't help appreciating for a second before you carefully slide off the bed. Wrapping yourself in his shirt and grabbing your underwear from the floor, you go use the bathroom and then find yourself tempted out onto the porch by the bright sunshine. 

You'd love to be able to call Magda right now, but the phone line in the trailer is no longer connected; instead you try to remember her words from the day before. She told you to think with your head, not just your heart, and that's what you do as you try to sort your muddled feelings. You're still irresistibly drawn to Hop, and spending the night with him has only proved how much. It's not just about sex - it never was - it's about the fact that you just connect, it feels right when you're with him. You fell in love with him during the worst time of your life, and it turns out those feelings were real, even if they were drenched in grief and alcohol. 

Because you and Hop, you've seen each other at your very worst. You've seen behind the curtain, to the darkest parts of yourselves and each other, and you're both still here; fighting forward, trying to be better, making amends in your own ways. And despite - or maybe because of - having known the worst times of your lives together, it turns out you still fit together like the pieces at the centre of a complicated jigsaw puzzle. It's just that now you've filled in so many more pieces of that puzzle that the picture can finally be seen in its entirety - and the beauty of it takes your breath away.

You sense him even before you hear his footstep behind you. Turning, you can't help but smile at his dishevelled appearance, even though you know from a brief glance in the bathroom mirror earlier that you look no less rumpled. He's only wearing his jeans, his feet and chest bare, and his bed hair is spectacular.   
"Jesus, I could use some coffee." He wraps an arm around you and squeezes you tightly against him.  
"Mornings are for coffee and contemplation." You note, and he laughs.  
"You remember that, huh?"  
"Of course. I've been contemplating without the coffee."  
He makes a face, "Dangerous. You want to be careful with that."   
You laugh a little and snuggle into his side. "The view helps."  
"You never used to come out here much." He notes.   
"Couldn't handle space very well back then." You reply. "It's nice now, out here. Peaceful."  
"Yeah." He kisses the top of your tousled head. "I should have planned better, got something for breakfast at least. We'll have to stop at the diner on the way back to town."   
The reminder that you have to leave here soon feels like a trickle of cold water down your spine. "I guess."  
Hop's fingers tighten on your shoulder, "Not yet, though." He mutters, then he sighs, "I'm not ready to let you go yet."

"If this is the end, why doesn't it feel like it?" You blurt. You couldn't hold the question in any longer if you tried.  
Hopper's lips touch your forehead in a gentle caress before he answers. "Does it have to be?"  
Your breath catches in your throat, "What do you mean?"  
"I don't know, sweetheart. But I know I don't want to lose you again."  
You tip your head back so that you can look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there.  
"Hop, this might just be old feelings and-"  
"Stop." He says, gently but firmly. "It's not that, and you know it."   
You're not going to argue, because you know he's right. "I didn't come back here looking for this." You say instead.   
"You know, you could have just had those legal papers couriered to you for signature, right?"  
You flush red, remembering a conversation you had back in Boston. "My sponsor mentioned the same thing. She told me my need to come back here had to be about more than paperwork."  
"What did you say to that?"  
"I talked about you, for the thousandth time." You admit. "There's not an AA meeting in Boston that hasn't heard our story at least once." You try to laugh, but his face remains serious.  
"How do you want that story to end, baby?"  
"I thought it was going to end with me apologising to you," You reply, "When I was planning this trip, that's what I thought. See you, hopefully make things a little bit right, sell the house and leave Hawkins behind. Keep moving forward."  
"And now?" You can feel the tension in his body, but his face is carefully neutral.  
"Being with you again, it feels right." You tell him, "You and me, it's like this trailer. Clear away all the mess and dirt, and there's still something good underneath."  
His jaw is clenched, and you swear his eyes look a little moist. "Last night, you started to say something. You said, 'I still-'. You still what, baby?"   
Tears immediately spring to your eyes, but you shake your head frantically. You can't say the words, you just can't.   
"Trailer's yours." He says abruptly. "If you want it."  
"What?" You reel a little in shock.  
"And so am I." He interrupts, "Cause I still love you, baby."   
You swallow, not quite able to believe that he knew what you nearly said, or that he said it first. "I still love you too, Hop." You whisper.   
He nods slightly, "Well, there you go." There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, and you can't hold out any longer, flinging your arms around his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss so long and deep that you're dizzy and gasping for air when the two of you finally break apart.  
"It might not work out." He says bluntly, his arms still tight around you, "But I want to give it a try. But you have to be sure, because moving here-"   
You put a finger on his lips to stop him talking, "I want to try, Hop. I won't move here, not yet, but I'll come stay in the trailer for the summer, and we can see what happens."  
"You have to promise me something." He looks serious.   
"What is it?"  
"Before, when you just disappeared... You can't do that again. If things get rough-"  
"If things get rough, I'll tell you." You interrupt, "And the same goes for you, right?"  
"I promise, sweetheart. Scouts honour."  
"Like you were a Boy Scout!"   
He chuckles, and cuddles you closer again. "You know, you'll be meeting my kid. She's not a Boy Scout either."  
"Then we should get along just fine."  
He snorts, "Oh baby, you have no idea."

And as the sun rises higher in the sky over Hawkins, you stay huddled with Hop on the porch of your trailer, kissing a little, talking a little, and finally feeling like you've come home - not to Hawkins, but to Hopper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go! I'm really sad to have finished this one, and I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I'm unofficially dedicating this chapter to Kinsley, for believing in happily ever afters in Hawkins! 
> 
> DoB x


End file.
